


Rusted

by DarkFantasy



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Other, Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-11-16 08:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkFantasy/pseuds/DarkFantasy
Summary: Branch swears he's been stuck in some perverted form of torture.





	1. Chapter 1

The forest was tranquil as it always was.

The sun was shining, like it always does.

 

And in his dreams, as always, she was there too.

A coquettish manner had begun to grow about her as the years passed. In amusement he used to muse that perhaps she was going through some form of puberty, or perhaps she was just sexually unsatisfied. Because in all honesty, no one in their right mind would try to bed a rusted tin can.

Especially one that slept in garbage and looked the way he did.

He had no purpose, he wasn't even useful, and as far as he could tell he was nothing but a hollow shell of weathered old steel.

 

Yet here she was, still behaving the way she did, looking at him with lust filled eyes, and tenderly exploring him with curious fingers. Her fair pink skin, freckled with prominent fuchsia dots, contrasting against his dull lifeless tin corpse. Where her chest filled with air and a steady beating heart, his was hollow and empty, he didn't even pretend to mimic the movements of the living, it was useless and had no purpose. 

It's not like pretending to be alive would suddenly bless him with a real heart.

But still, he felt captured by her bright, very much alive, sparkling magenta eyes. There was no denying her beauty. In all the times she visited him, her long curly dark pink hair was always in a loose bun, an innocent flower crown constantly on her head. She had taken to wearing lose flowing dresses in any shade of blue in the recent years, noticing how the color inexplicably made him react to her every move. It was like a sin, he felt he shouldn't be here, yet here he was, like some pervert, pretending to be part of this girl's fantasies.

 

He watched deadpan, unable to make any other facial expression, as she planted her knees on either side of him, resting her round, perfectly curvy ass on his lap. Eyes lidded she reached for his hand and thoroughly explored it. Her fingers working on his palm, feeling his 'skin', exploring the texture of his metal plating. She watched fascinated at his complex design, saw how small thin sheets slid under the other to allow for his movement.

She let out a soft sigh, as though the action itself was arousing to her, "you are simply amazing. I've never seen such, craftsmanship..."

 

This unsettled him. Hell the whole situation unsettled him. These were the moments where he felt emotions. And the girl always seemed to play with his. She's doing this because she knows he's not alive. Knows that he's just a machine, and anything that happened here had no real consequence. Any other explanation simply doesn't make logical sense. He knows all these things, and tries to keep them at the forefront of his mind, but it all falls away so easily with her simple statement. It was dumb and stupid. He wasn't living, he shouldn't be feeling vain, or prideful. Or any emotion at all for that matter...

She smiles as an idea takes a hold of her, and looking in his eyes, she brushes a lip on the back of his hand, like a knight greeting his princess. The action makes him scoff internally in dry humor. 

 

Humming happily in contentment she gently rests his arm on her shoulder and makes the other arm do the same. Then her attention turns to his torso.

 

He's clothed in nothing but a ripped cloth tied around his waist, somewhat covering his lower half. His chest on the other hand is exposed. Metal shaped to resemble muscles, and for the life of him (ha ha) he couldn't figure out why he was designed this way. He looks down at her hands. Gentle and curious. Slowly exploring his surface.

If he could, he'd close his eyes and enjoy the sensation. But he could neither feel her on him, nor could he close his eyes. But watching her feel him was definitely... alluring. The same way her curves were... dare he say... tempting.

 

She felt up to his shoulders, before quickly sliding her hands under his arms, and onto his back, feeling down his sides and seemingly relishing the fake abs. 

Slowly she adjusted herself, pressing her body against his.

 

If he weren't alive, he'd believe himself to be dead. Because in a swift movement, she had tossed her flowing gown aside, his arms held back in his shock, and her very much naked body was ever so firmly pressed to his.

 

Then.

 

Nothing.

She just, froze there, as if she too couldn't believe what she was doing. Her arms encircled his body, crushing herself to him.

He didn't dare move.

Her breaths were hitched and heavy. Almost panting. "... mmm..."

 

Her eyes darted up to his face. "Ha. You know, I couldn't stop thinking about you recently... Every night you always... consume my thoughts. Invade my dreams. Heh. That sort of thing."

His metal simply creaked in response. He couldn't speak. He had no lips or throat to speak with. All he could do was sit frozen in absolute disbelief. God, she played him so well, like a fucking toy. Her words were like magic, and felt like a force of its own, pulling him in with every whisper of her breath. He hugged her back then, acknowledging her words, wanting to know what more she had to say. But she only hummed appreciatively for his gesture. Leaning back on his arms, she began moving rhythmically. Hips grinding against him.

 

 

Immediately he let go of her, scrambling away from her so fast, that by the time she'd recovered from the sudden movement, he was a good distance away from her.

She looked at him in utter dismay. "No! Please! I'm sorry. Come back!" Tears began building up in her eyes, as she desperately reached out for him.

 

Slowly he approached her, he'd never seen her cry before, and it pained him so much it felt as if his entire existence was being crushed by sadness, guilt, and regret.

In an attempt to comfort her he held her face and shook his head viciously.

No. Please. Don't cry.

"I'm sorry... it's just. I can't stop thinking of you.. and I'm so..," she whined, needy, horny, troubled. "Ugh. Please. Help me. I can't..." Her fingers were there, covering her sex, touching, teasing herself as she begged him to help her. He watched her work, watched how she trembled, leaned back and displayed herself for him, her pussy wet. "Ah! Please!" She screamed.

Breathing heavily, she began inserting her fingers in earnest, moving as fast as she could, one hand teasing her clit. He was transfixed by her display. Never in all his years had he seen her so... out of sorts. So heated and lewd. He had always assumed she'd forever stay innocent. Never thought the day would come where he'd see her on the floor, fucking herself in a desperate attempt to coax him to enter her heat.

Begging, screaming, she finally reached out to him, both hands wet with her juices, and yanked out the waist-cloth.

 

He tried to stop her... really he did.  
But she was too fast for him. He was too lost in his thoughts. He was too... distracted by her actions.

 

And in the end. She finally learned the cold hard truth...

 

 

 

It was empty.

 

There was nothing there where his dick should be.

 

For the first time in his existence. He felt truly ashamed for his lack of manhood.   
Never before had it bothered him until this very moment. 

 

He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

She whimpered.

 

And suddenly. It was all over.


	2. Reminiscent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes. By a machine.
> 
> Then more smut.

Nothing made sense in the world. In his world. 

 

In his dreams he saw her. Ever since he was alive. 

And in his dreams he had watched her grow. 

It was an amazing experience.

 

He had never seen anything grow before. In his dreams he had seen plants, and trees. And grass and flowers. He had seen the sun's face, and heard the birds sing.

And at first he was frozen in utter shock.

He couldn't process such amazing sights.

He never knew the names of these amazing things he saw, until he talked to her. At the time she was young and little. She didn't help him much, but his tin felt pressure as he watched her grow determined to help him.

 

No one was as happy as her. And though he was ruled by logic and wires, she had filled him up with her magic. Her smiles. Her kindness. Her trust and care, and admiration.

She often marveled at him. 

As she grew and grew, she focused more and more on him. And he felt more. Alive.

And it hurt.

 

He began. Feeling. 

He began. Missing.

Longing.

Wishing.

 

And. Dreaming.  _Day_ dreaming.

He didn't even know machines could do that. And he was certain it wasn't natural.

He was feeling every bit of emotion she could feel... except for the one he'd witnessed last night.

 

He had awoken from his pile with a shock. Pain. He was certain that he wasn't damaged. But somewhere, he felt a heavy pressure, so hard and so tight he was certain it was pain. 

His head hurt. His body was overheating as all his processors worked overtime... for no reason at all. 

Simply because. It felt right.

 

He deserved it. If he exploded, or melted down. He knew it was right. It. Simply felt right.

 

But what did that mean? 

Feel right?

He couldn't feel.

 

He. Was hollow.

He frowned inwardly and looked at himself. The plastic around him had melted on his metal. He stared at his smoothness. Stared at the place she'd been so desperate for.

Some of the others had an appendage there. And till today, he had never even thought of it. She had explained it to him many times. 

He knew it's purpose. But he had never even thought that she... that. 

 

He shut down his systems. Body suddenly slack, his head fell back.

He replayed the images.

 

She was beautiful.

What was beauty?

 

How was it measured?

If he compared her to everything he'd ever seen, he knew that she was the one thing he'd like to stare at forever. Not even the sun, or the flowers, or those... amazing creatures he saw could compare. He supposed that was beauty. 

And she was that.

 

...

Was that sex?

He'd only heard her talking about it. But she had always seemed to... skim around the subject. She had told him that if a boy and a girl really liked each other, they'd have, sexual intercourse. And a baby would be created.

She never talked about it as much as she talked about everything else, and she'd never done that before.

 

He ran his fingers against his body. Tracing the paths she made. Now, he truly felt nothing. But when she did it. 

He wanted to...

 

Well. He didn't even know what he wanted to do... He just, felt the need to. Shiver? Moan. Sigh?

What should he have done...

What would she do?

 

That thought intrigued him.  _What_ would she do? How  _would_ she react?

Would she mew and sigh and moan like she did when her fingers were pumping in and out of her?  Would she... like it?

 

He looked closely at his fingers. 

 

Perhaps. He could try it. 

 

 

He would do what she did.

And maybe then she'd forgive him... If he ever saw her again...

 

 

Why did he feel this way? Why did he feel.. shame? Like she was angry with him, like it was his fault for being built incorrectly... He always thought he was complete.

Until he saw her.

Until he meet her.

 

Until he saw her cry.

 

This was what it felt like.

 

This was how it feels. To be hollow.

Rusted.

 

 

A tin can.

* * *

 

The moment she had awoken from the dream, she threw her bankets aside and thrust her fingers greedily under her panties.

Using her thumb she coaxed herself to climax as the rest of her fingers clumsily pumped in and out of her pussy.

 

Even as she replayed what she saw in her dreams, she still couldn't satisfy her  _need_  for him. 

In fact, finally seeing him fully exposed fucked her up even more... Her heart raced. Licks of heat and pleasure spread throughout her body as fast as her heart was pumping blood. Just thinking about that...That smoothness between his legs was a fucking turn on.

Oh god, something was wrong with her.

How could she be so damn turned on by nothing?!?

 

**Fuck.**

Her imagination ran wild. How would he taste if she licked him? Would he taste like copper? Like metal? Like rust?

**Oh Fuck.**

Her hips rocked and bucked as she thought about his skin. There were soo many  _delicious_  bumps and ridges her pussy would fucking  _love._  Oh shit, just imagining herself getting caught against his metal, as she shamelessly got herself off against him, was doing things to her body.

Amazing things. 

 

**Fucking, beautiful things.**

 

She was close, soo close, her hips stayed in the air, her legs straining hard, the pain further driving her pleasure. The feel of her taunt muscles.

 

She imagined him doing things to her. Imagined his fingers inside her. 

Imagined his eyes glow brighter and sharper as they stared at her pulsating pussy. Hungry for him. 

Desperate for pleasure. For him to satisfy her. For him to just. To just touch her like she touched herself, and more. So much more.

 

"Hnnnnn"

She bit her knuckle, she couldn't live with herself if her servants or guards rushed in on her now. She had to stay silent.

 

Moaning uncontrollably into her fist, she drooled as she thought about his reactions.

He clearly liked it when she had fucked herself in front of him. He had stared like, fuck, she couldn't tell, but he looked so damn focused on her. On her actions.

 

She imagined him growing hot to the touch as she played with herself. As she displayed herself to him, as she danced and teased him, shaking her ass in his face.

**Oh fucking shit.**

 

She imagined him overheat as she sat on his lap, and treated him as a lover. Looking at him with hooded eyes, whispering sweet nothings and touching him freely. 

 

Would he thrust if she touched that nothingness between his legs? Would he feel good?

 

Would he enjoy it?

"Ahhhhhh"

 

She imagined rubbing her pussy against it. Grinding it like she was riding a fucking horse, grinding like her life depended on it, like she'd die without his heated metal against her.

Oh fuck, how would it even feel!?!

How would it feel as her slogging wet pussy, crushed, right up against his overheating metal, grinded fast and hard? Oh.

 

It must be fucking heaven, she imagined.

 

 

Her eyes shut tight, she saw stars and climaxed for the first time in her life.

 

 

 

Oh, the things she'd do to him the next time she sees him...

 

She sighed, content.

Pleased, as the heat finally left her. The air cooled her body, her fingers withdrawn from her depths.

 

Falling into blissful, dreamless sleep, she smiled as she thought about tomorrow.


	3. Sinker

His skin was definitely different and unique.

 

In fact she had never ever seen it before in her life... Not in books, or art, or even in make-believe stories...

It was. Absolutely exquisite.

 

She couldn't take her eyes off it even if she tried.

It was seamless, elegant, beautiful, ingenious, and more. So much more...

 

He was made up of many many parts, like thin textured strands of flat noodles, kind of parts. She liked it, whatever it was.

Maybe it was because noodles was one of her favorite things to eat, along many others, but she knew there was more to it than that. 

He just generally brought out a whole different part of her. One that was more silent. Patient. And... Something more than. Her usual self.

 

The things, the. The strands that made up his skin, slide beautifully under each other as he moves. She's drawn to his every move this way. Just watching him crook a finger, or tilt his head, or something or the other mundane was like watching something elicit. Amazing. Something secret. She knew that only she saw him in her dreams. That only she had seen his skin, his body. 

Only she had spoken to him, only she knew him.

 

He tells her that he has seen others, but they are like him, or similar to him. He has never seen anything like her before, but meeting her here like this is the most natural thing for him. Like it's a normal, everyday occurrence.

He tells her that inside him there are alerts, warnings, things telling him that he is broken, damaged, and that he isn't supposed to dream. And yet, here they are.

Side by side.

 

Sitting in the grass under a sunny sky...

 

 

She still remembers teaching him about it.

When he had first come to her. 

 

He was panicked, attacking falling leaves as if it would slice him in half. She giggled and caught his attention, but just as he had moved to grab for her throat, he froze.

They stared at each other, finally taking in their different forms...

 

She was soft, small, and fleshy. He was hard, rusted, and every bit solid. 

The hands that had dangerously curled around her neck retracted. Slowly. Caustiosly.

Like she'd strike him down if he harmed her.

 

She remembered her awe then. 

He was like a sculpture come to life. Unreal build, eye pleasing shape, a pretty but dangerous, lean but built sort of figure. 

His mucles didn't work the way she knew mucles worked. Hell she figured he never really had any, his skin was simply shaped to look like he did. 

 

Teaching him was easy.

 

Everything was easy with him.

He always seemed so attentive, so hung on her every word. She never knew it was possible to be so keen. So eager. She thought she was the only creature who was the most conscientious. But he took it to whole other levels.

 

After years under his sharp scrutiny, she began. Feeling something.

 

 

Weird. Odd. 

 

She. Couldn't describe it.

Her eyes didn't want to leave him. His presence was. Intoxicating. 

More.

 

More. 

 

She needed more.

 

His eyes. All over her.

 

When she learned about his favorite color, she was over the moon. Hastily grabbing all the blue nets she could find.

 

She wanted him to see through it. She wanted him to see her. More of her.

All of her.

 

It needed to happen, as desperate as she needed to breathe. 

 

* * *

 

 

It had become routine. She never felt so comfortable in her own skin before. These.

These sessions with him turned her into a different person. She felt happy and confident all the time. Her joy so great and unbridled. 

 

She just. Could, not, help it. 

 

She lavished in her nudity, relished her privacy, and loved every night that came upon her. She had long since ditched her nightwear. Preferring to be naked right away. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was in his arms. His face still had the smile she drew on last time.

 

Wasting no time at all she hugged him close to her, giggling like a child. 

"Branch!"

His eyes dimed, as he nuzzled his face deeper into the crook of her neck. Tickling her cheeks with his synthetic hair. She pulled herself closer, raising her bare chest, needing more contact. A hum escaped her lips when she finally felt him against her.

His name escaped her like a whisper. And like breathing she exhaled it after every lungful.

 

A long time ago she had learned about his smell. 

 

It was disgusting, gagging her instantly. 

He explained that he lived in a literal dump. But the smell still stung her nose.

When she was consumed in her lust, she had absent-mindedly suckled on his beautifully textured fingers. He tasted like copper, reminded her of the taste of batteries. Most of the time he was cool to the touch, but his chest heated enough for it to be pleasurable.

The heat stung her as first, but the pain mixed so head-numbingly well with the pleasure.

 

She realized that his rise in temperature was the only evidence of her affect on him. They never spoke about what he felt exactly, but she always assumed that he at least loved her like she did him.

 

She whispered sweetly into his ear, licking it every chance she got, "Branch... Please."

 

He could never resist her whine. 

Whenever she begged of him, he would always begin by slowly trapping her. She wasn't sure why, but he never got over the fear that she may try to escape him.

As if he could possibly do anything to harm her.

He Pressed her bottom as close as he could get it to his body. He leaned her back, streching her out till her back ached pleasantly, and her pussy grew wet. His face was always deadpan, but the way he angled it. His eyes locked on to hers. 

It made her squirm. 

 

He was unreadable. 

 

But that Lazer focus, that unyeilding gaze, haunts her even in the real world. 

 

By now her breath is stolen by him. Just one look and she's already ready.

 

As one hand restraints her, the other strokes her clit. He starts slow. As if he is still learning.

But she knows better.

 

She knows he's only doing it to hear her. Addicted to her voice. Addicted to her actions.

 

Addicted to  **her**.

 

The pleasure takes over her, even if all he's doing is simply touching. The tip of his finger flipping her trigger like a common switch. 

It's driving her wild. Insane even.

It's not enough. It never is.

 

More. She needs it. She wants him.

 

More. "More, please. Please.please more."

 

Moving her hips is close to impossible. He's got her so streched out. But he complies.

Mercifully, he finally gives her what she wants. He mimics what she showed him, and lets two fingers sink into her. As slow as achingly possible.

She feels every second he slides in, as if it lasts a minute, he occasionally presses her button with his thumb, but it's not nearly enough.

She begins to drool when he's  _finally_ all the way inside.

 

He puts some distance between her ass and his stomach, repositioning himself. She misses the stinging heat on her, but waits patiently. 

She moans his name and sticks her tongue out, like a hungry animal she openly begs for him to move. To do something. Any thing.

 

The hand that held her wrists move to occupy her lips. He looks at her body.

Then slowly, he watches her twitch, as he presses against her clit and slides his fingers out lazily. He watches her trembling. Her shivers. Sees her shake and feels.

 

Feels full.

 

He feels. Complete.

A wave washes over him.

 

And suddenly, he looses all control. 

 

His hand pistons in and out of her, moving at a speed only he would reach. His thumb abuses her clitoris, and his fingers mercilessly assult her sweet spot. She chokes on her own drool, crying out, screaming in undescribable pleasure. She hugs the arm that feeds her his hand, sucking on his fingers, biting as hard as she can whenever it pleases her.

The lust takes over her mind and she finds herself shamelessly raising her hips and twitching. Despite the pain at the speed he drowns her it, she wants him to do it harder.

To move even faster. She starts riding his fingers, and the pain increases.

Her mind is swimming, drowning. She's certain she doesn't have one anymore.

All the pleasure dwarfs every other sensation. And for a few blissful seconds, she's aware of nothing but her clenching pulsating pussy as she climaxes.

 

 

In the morning she wakes up to soaked sheets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed. Incomplete.
> 
> It still does.


End file.
